


Mozart's Requiem in D minor, k. 626, in Paris

by kittymaverick



Series: Paris Apartment Diaries [2]
Category: Devil May Cry
Genre: And by take care of we mean he freaks out, F/M, Fluff, He might look like he's got it all together but really he doesn't, Illness, Innuendo somewhere maybe, POV First Person, Potential softcore angst from Vergil thinking he could lose you, Teeny tiny bit hot at the end, Thankfully the narrator has a fever and can't quite tell, The Narrator gets sick, Vergil takes care of you
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-05
Updated: 2019-06-05
Packaged: 2020-04-07 05:46:38
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,840
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19078708
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kittymaverick/pseuds/kittymaverick
Summary: The Narrator stays out in the rain a smidge too long, resulting in a serious bout of illness. Cue Vergil entering nervous angsty boyfriend mode.





	Mozart's Requiem in D minor, k. 626, in Paris

**Author's Note:**

> I just had a bout of the cold/flu and basically my entire thought through the recovery process was "I need someone to take care of my... *sob sob*" Since I don't have that irl, I'll have to make do with fanfiction. :P
> 
> Part of the Parisian Apartment Diaries involving Vergil and my OC (Tsukiko), though I try to minimize specifics so the OC can be anyone. Try being the keyword here. My sinuses are stuffed so forgive me if some stuff don't fit your headcanon.

Know what's worse than being stuck out in a rainy night in a back alley with a non-functioning mini-revolver in your hand? Being stuck out in the dreary rain, past midnight, in a Parisian back alley filled with rubbish, holding a jammed revolver while soaked head to toe after a nice long dip in the Seine. That leisurely swim (all sarcasm intended) had definitely not been part of my day plan. Talk about a job going south. Had I known this was going to occur (and technically, I should have!), I would have stashed a cache nearby.  
  
Wet hair plastered to my face, I suppress a cough and check the chamber of the gun. I take out the bullets. Insurance to self-defense. Paris is a no-summon zone, and my mind is in no shape to conjure spells. That is only a tad worse than being entirely unpresentable for walking down the open street. Other than my gun, I'm down a shoe. The left sleeve of my overcoat is tattered from when I scrapped against the side of the canal in the torrent. The right lapel and basically the rest of my shirt underneath has one giant rip that goes down to my waist. Of all the places that demon could have grabbed when we struggled in the water. Couldn't it have grabbed something less essential, like a glove?  
  
And then there's the developing bruises from all the kicks it gave me: Above a brow, on my shoulder, on my upper back and hip. I am going to be sore for more than a week at this rate. That is, if I can get to safety first. I glimpse up to spot for landmarks. If I'm right about where I surfaced and got to shore, I'm some twenty minutes away from my apartment. That's twenty minutes of walking semi-exposed in a daze, hoping that nothing catches me off guard. Maybe if I rest until this haze over my mind is gone, until the world stops spinning so much...  
  
Steps, the sound of soles grinding against the pavement, shift. They are slow and measured, heading in my direction. I press myself against a wall, behind a stack of discarded office supply boxes. What are my options? Hide and hope for the best? Make a run for it? No, both would kick right into a fight. Bluffing will be better here. What I need is time to recover.  
  
I steady my footing, held my breath, and whip around, gun raised. Light glinting off a blade blinds me. My vision adjusts slowly. I blink several times before recognizing the familiar katana and the man, white haired, wearing a dark-navy coat. The lamplight behind outlines him, casting his tall shadow over me.  
  
"By the Divine, Vergil..." I exhale, my limbs goes slack, and my knees buckle under my body weight. I feel exhausted all of a sudden.  
  
"You're late," he remarks, a hint of hurt in his tone. "Whatever happened to your promise of being home by--" I rush past both weapon and words to bury myself in his chest. He goes quiet and still. I know Vergil isn't the most receptive when it comes to sudden affection, but after what happened earlier, I couldn’t hold back my selfish need.  
  
"Sorry, I just…” I said between sniffs, not sure if I was apologizing for breaking a promise or the unannounced hug. The wetness on my face was both warm and cold as tears of relief and rain mingled.

The smell of wet leather tells me Vergil is soaked too, though more on the shoulders and head than anywhere else. He must have been searching for me for a while. As he relaxes in my arms bit by bit, I feel the sheathe of the Yamato dissolve before he placed his now-free hand on the back of my head. We held onto one another for a few seconds before he pushed me back a step. “What happened?” he asks, lifting my face up as he examined the scrap near my brow.  
  
“We got lured into a trap. The bridge fell out from right under our feet,” I answer, wincing when Vergil’s hand graze against a bruised spot on my shoulder. “The rest of the team is safe. I got carried away in the river because I had my hand on a target, and neither of us would let go.”  
  
“And what of that demon?” Bridled rage fills Vergil’s voice. I cough, not holding back now that I am well-protected.  
  
“Got away. I managed to put a few bullets into it before my gun jammed.” Vergil summons the sheath and stows his weapon before turning to walk out the alley. I grab him by the sleeve. “Where are you going?” I ask, though I know the answer.  
  
“To hunt this demon down.” Vergil’s reply is curt, impatient. his eyes glow red. “If it’s injured, it shouldn’t be too hard to find.”  
  
“It’s a weak demon, Vergil. There’s no energy to trace, and any blood it might have bled is in the river.” I tug again on his coat when Vergil tries to move. “Besides, it knows we’re looking for it now. It’s probably going to lay low for a week at least.”  
  
“Shouldn’t you try to locate it before it does that?”  
  
I sigh, “Normally, I would, but… this case has not been normal as of late. My foresight is failing, and it shouldn't be.” Somewhere, a bell tolls once. A cold shiver hit me, and I sneeze. “I just… I want to go home, please? Can we just go home now?” I ask with a sniff, leaning my head against Vergil’s arm. He tenses up, seemingly torn between two decisions, before he unsheathed the Yamato to make a cross-shaped cut against the air. A portal opens with a flash and thrum.  
  
“Stay close to me,” he cautions, putting an arm around me. I take all but one hop forward before he sweeps me up in his arms instead. Any protests I have are gone with a single defiant stare from him; he is going to carry me home, whether I like it or not.  
  
I relent, running a cold hand against his cheek as he steps into the portal. “My hero knight,” I tease, getting a bashful noise out of him in the process.  
  
“I’m only doing this because you’re missing a shoe,” Vergil states, the slightest hint of a smile in the corner of his mouth.  
  
“I should play Cinderella more often—” I turn my head away to cough. The hacking echoes in the extra dimensional space we are in.  
  
“Are you unwell?” Vergil has stopped walking. He shifts me closer to press his forehead against mine.  
  
“I did just take a dip in the Seine during heavy rain. Probably not the most sanitary time to do it.” I breathed deeply. “Just a small tickle in the back of my throat. I should feel better once inside.”  
  
“Even so, do not push yourself,” Vergil nags. “You’ve been staying up late to work this entire week. Human bodies can only endure so much.”  
  
“Are you human-splaining me?” I chuckle at my own joke, then gasp, feeling Vergil damn near drop me. “I’m kidding. Staying in the apartment alone must have been boring, huh? Thanks for being so patient.” I give him a light peck. His hold on me tighten ever the slightest.  
  
There is a long bout of silence before Vergil speaks again. “I’m not… what I said, I wasn’t trying to make it about me.” He gently lowers me to the ground, cupping my face in his hands. “You’ve… looked better, and accomplished far more. Since you started this mission though, and seeing you as you are tonight… it has been… unbearable?” I must have been giving my best ‘excuse me, what’ look for Vergil’s tone to shift to one that is full of doubt. I'm not sure what was more audacious: accidentally insulting my complexion, or accidentally insulting my ability, or that he insulted me to begin with. Funny thing with this half-demon lad: for one so well-versed in literature and capable of waxing poetry on the whim, there are times when he had the perfect lines to shower you with in the perfect moment. And then there are times when he is the exact opposite, trying to talk with both his boots in his mouth. It almost makes you understand why Nero and Dante wants to beat him into submission at times.  
  
Anyway, whatever he just said, definitely the latter.

“You understand what I’m trying to convey,” Vergil, my savior, my charming chewer of boots, avoids my gaze with a huff. Lucky for him, and certainly weird of me, I love the small misunderstandings we create. Plus, he did rescue me from a desperate situation.  
  
“Certainly.” I lean into his back as he opens a portal for us to exit out of. “As soon as I take care of a few things first, I’ll take a break.”

* * *

  
Not that I want to admit that Vergil’s concerns are entirely justified, but I think just about everything I did after we arrived home broke all the promise I made not a minute ago. The phone in the study was ringing before we even got the door open. The other members on the team of this particular demon hunt collectively gave a sigh of relief when I finally picked up. I silently gestured to Vergil that he should take the shower first while we debriefed. He was in and out in less than ten minutes, emerging to find me awkwardly smiling behind a table, now in a full conference call, with the detailed map of the city before me. Even I couldn’t argue with the stern look of disapproval. I faked a yawn, let the team know I was going to need a few days before I find the demon again, and hung up after lengthy farewells and reminders. I skipped off to the bathroom to find a set of pajamas and fresh towels already waiting. Vergil’s sweet that way, with small gestures peppered here and there in spontaneous moments. It’s another way of him showing concern, other than trying his best to put it into words.  
  
And then as if I couldn’t disappoint him more, an old habit of mine kicked in right after I stepped out of the shower. Feeling rather peckish, I fixed myself a quick ham and cheese sandwich to chew on while I went over my mission log like I was still an intern from the occult university. Much like I did back in the day, the more I read of the log, the longer I chewed each mouthful, and the slower the consumption of the sandwich. I’d barely got to three quarters when Vergil finally decided enough was enough. He stormed out of the bedroom to where I was in the kitchen and slung me over one shoulder like a sack of flour. I let him carry me to bed, accepting that yes, I’ve had terrible self-care in the past couple, maybe several days. If he felt like he needed to force feed me the rest of the sandwich and use his body weight to anchor me to bed, so be it. (Mind you, I meant that in the perfectly innocent manner.) I swear I felt his hair bristle as he stewed in anger with his head on my chest.  
  
Sleep did not come easily that night. I startled awake several times, dreaming of water filling my lungs. Vergil was there the moment I opened my eyes, reassuring me that I was safe. Alas, tried as he might, I never truly got the rest I needed. That leaves me in my current predicament and agony. The sun is up, bright against a cleared sky. I, on the other hand, wish the ball of incandescence would crawl back down the horizon and stop shining in my eye. If it could take the birds and traffic with it, even better. The worst part, however, is the tickling in the back of my throat. It grows steadily into a stabbing pain.  
  
“Oh, that’s not good,” I comment after another coughing fit while Vergil draws the seldomly used second layer of curtains to block out some of the sun and noise. “Bloody hell, I wanted to get some tracking done today. I’d laid beacons out and all.” I close my eyes, too tired to keep them open. It does not help lessen my fatigue though as light simply shines through my eyelids like paper.  
  
“Would it work if I went in your stead?” Vergil suggests. I feel the bed bounce as he dips back down to put a hand on my face to check my temperature.  
  
“Would you be willing? You're a savior.” I sigh in relief. “There’s a map of the locations somewhere on my desk. Take it with you.”  
  
Vergil grunts an acknowledgement. He goes to the drawers to put on a dress shirt and pants, the former being salmon pink, the latter dark brown. I enjoyed the reverse striptease as he methodically buttoned his shirt. Convincing him to wear normal clothes took some time, even more so over the color, but it was well worth the effort.  
  
Once he has tucked his shirt in and fastened his belt, Vergil comes and leans over where I am laying. “While I’m away,” he kisses me once on the forehead, “be good and stay in bed.”  
  
“Mm, if I do, do I get a reward?"

A short laugh and smile is all I get for an answer before Vergil left the room. Less than a minute later, I hear the slash of the Yamato and the opening and closing of the portal. I heave a sigh, stretch and reach for one of the drawers of the bedside tables. Fumbling around, I locate the ear themometer. A quick recalibration, press to an ear and click later, the gadget beeps. The reading displays a slightly heightened temperature.  
  
Guess I do have a fever after all. I have medicine somewhere in a kitchen cupboard. I slip out of bed and tip-toe over as if there would be trouble if Vergil catches me with my foot touching the floor. Popping one pill as instructed by the packaging, I prepared myself a pitcher of water and glass to take along with me back to bed. After drawing the third layer of curtains so that the room was well and truly insulated (I didn’t even remember having those until just now), I plop back down, seemingly falling asleep the moment the back of my head meets the pillows.  
  
And then everything… became a jumble of fuzzy memories.

* * *

  
Someone is taking me by both shoulders, seating me upright and roughly trying to shake me awake. Pissed off at the rude awakening, I slap the hand away, or try to. It turns into more of a futile push against the crook of an elbow. I raise my heavy head, brain filled with a foggy haze. Vergil calls my name several times as he pulls me closer. “Can you hear me?” He catches me as I tip forward, an arm around my upper back while the other cradled my head. I give his chest a solid head butt.  
  
“I hear you. I can hear you just fine,” is what I attempt to say. What comes out instead is a garble of sounds. Vergil pulls me back to the top of the bed (I must have wiggled to some unusual spot again…), where he rearranged the pillows in a hurry so that he could prop me up against the headboard. I hear the clink of glass and the rolling of water. Something cold, hard, pressed my lips.  
  
“Drink,” he orders. I take a sip, brows knit the moment the water flows past my throat, sending a prickling sensation up. Stopping to catch my breath and weakly clear my throat, I lean back to feel how my pajamas stuck uncomfortably to my back.  
  
“What time is it?” I mumble, toes searching for a blanket to pull up, for I feel cold all of a sudden. “I should take another shower. Did I shower last night? I don’t remember.” The moment I pull the blanket up to my chest, I regret it as the humidity of my sweat become trapped under the cover. Yet three seconds after shoving it away, I am freezing. I grumble and give the blanket an underserved kick.  
  
Vergil is still half-kneeling beside the bed. “How… how many of these have you taken?” He asks, perusing over the more detailed instruction manual packaged inside the box of cold medication.  
  
“One? It was a new package when I got it from the cupboard—” Vergil held the packet in front of me. Three of the ten casing are empty. “Oh. I guess I’ve contracted unable-to-count-ism.”  
  
“You’re burning up,” Vergil states the obvious.  
  
“Not that much,” I insist, “Here, help me take my temperature again. Just… put it in my ear and press.” I grab the thermometer off the nightstand and drop it into his lap. Vergil fumbles around with it for nearly a minute before we manage to get a reading.  
  
He looks at the number displayed in puzzlement. “What does this number mean?”  
  
I consider telling Vergil exactly what the number means and the implications, except I realize it would take probably an hour for me to explain it all, in my particular state of mind. Another day for another topic. “Is it higher than 40?” I ask instead.  
  
“…No?” No with a question mark? Vergil, it’s a number.  
  
“If not, then I’m fine, just a fever,” I shuffle under the covers again, now feeling ice cold at my shoulders, but boiling anywhere past the knee. “If it goes higher than 40, call the doctor.”  
  
“What doctor?” Vergil asks, confused and worried. I don’t think I got to answer that question, as another period of darkness and nothing takes over.

* * *

  
The wet sloppy plops of a soaked towel dabs my face. It goes away for a moment, during which I hear the slosh of water in a bowl right beside me. The bed under me feels different. Is that a towel under me? Also, the drafts of wind against my now exposed arms tells me that I’ve been changed out of my pajamas into… another set of pajamas, maybe? At the least I don’t feel as sticky as I did before.  
  
The towel returns, this time only slightly damp. It is cold, folded neatly against my forehead. I open one eye, lids so heavy I cannot even focus on what’s in front of me. The way Vergil calls my name sounds like a distant whisper. I see him lean over me, our noses close enough to touch. I feel so tired, however, and can’t muster the strength to respond. The rustle of the thermometer’s ear piece tickle my ear, and then the beep goes off…

* * *

  
Vergil paces outside the bedroom. It sounds like he is making a call. A very agitated call.  
  
“Have you ever contracted an illness before?”  
  
_What the hell kind of a stupid question is that_? The answer on the other side of the phone is loud enough that I can at least make out the “stupid question” part clearly.  
  
“This is important, Nero. Have you ever been sick, or have you ever-- Never mind. Disregard what I just asked. Could you put Kyrie on the phone, please? There is an urgent matter I must seek counsel of.”  
  
Nero sounds a bit incredulous, swearing about old man asking weird questions before apologizing for his language and handing the phone off. Kyrie’s voice is much soother in comparison.  
  
“Hi, Kyrie. Yes, I know it's unusual of me to call, but I can't think of a better person to ask. How does one take care of another that is gravely ill?”  
  
Another voice butts into the conversation. Nico appears to have grabbed the receiver from Kyrie and is on Vergil’s case about… responsibility for another’s safety?  
  
“It’s not that, Nico. There were no injuries. This is… an unforeseen happenstance. It was a long mission, and it had been raining—”  
  
Nero joins Nico’s lecturing, words that Vergil strangely accepts and lets happen. In the chaos of the two chewing him out, Kyrie wrestles the control back and seemingly asks for more details.  
  
“I… I’m not sure what it might be. There’s coughing, so the lungs must be affected. A high fever is running, a lot of sweating...... No, if it’s possible, I don’t want to wake-- we were up until pretty late, then there wasn’t much sleep after—“  
  
Nico and Nero somehow misinterpret what Vergil says and goes off on another long tirade about his behavior…

* * *

  
Vergil nudges me with a finger on the cheek. I stir awake. “Hey,” I say groggily, my voice several layers huskier than before.  
  
“Hey,” he echoes. Rather unusually of him to just say ‘hey’. It’s so strange, considering how formal he always is. “Would you… like something to eat?” The way he asks, it’s hesitant, unsure, like there’s a complete lack of confidence, left bare for the world to see.  
  
“What time is it?” My stomach feels nothing, not even emptiness. I’m not sure if I can even keep food down, especially when pins and needles stabbed away in my throat. As for my tongue, everything has the taste of chalk right now, even the air. “I guess I could try. What is there in the fridge though? I feel like we’re out of groceries…”  
  
I stumble out of bed. Vergil steadies me with both hands on my waist, not letting go until he is sure I have my footing. I drag my two heavy feet over to the bathroom. If I am to have any food, the least I could do first is get rid of my morning/night breathe first so that I can actually taste something.  
  
“I’ve done a survey of the pantry. Other than several packets of cured meat—“ Those are call ham slices, Vergil. Why are you such an adorable antiquated dork? “—cheese and bread, you are rather low on… everything else, minus condiments and spices”  
  
“Hm… and whose fault is it that I can’t go on a shopping spree for ingredients?” I tease, mouth full of toothpaste bubbles. Vergil, being able to live off of thin air, is possibly the pickiest eater I’ve ever known. A stark contrast from his ability to cook almost anything, for the oddest of reasons.  
  
“I did find an entire bag of unopened rice,” Vergil notes. I look back at him, taking almost a full minute to remember that my father had airmailed me a 10 kilogram bag of rice, for absolutely no reason. “Perhaps we could make some porridge, out of the ingredients we have?”  
  
“You know how to make porridge?” Not to blame Vergil, but looking the way he does, and having spent more of his life in hell than in the human world, the fact that he knows the word porridge at all is blowing my incredibly-high-on-cold-medication-or-just-the-fever mind.  
  
“Or… I could step out to the market. A few mushrooms and peppers for an omelette. Or maybe you want something easier to consume, like a soup?” Vergil asks expectantly, taping his hands on his thigh. Honestly, I feel as if my brain is making up the conversation at this point, because what Vergil said just did not sound like a sentence that would leave his mouth.  
  
I pinch myself on the cheek, confirming that no, it is not a dream and also ow, I have a very tender jaw right now. Is that swelling my lymph nodes or just my salivary glands? “Any of those sound great,” I remark.  
  
Vergil tries to interpret my answer. “All… three then?”  
  
“What? No, not together. Even if I’m sick, that’s a terrible combination.” I rinse my mouth clean, wipe away whatever is left with a face towel. Then dizziness hits me, harder than ever. I grip the counter top, yet the marble feels like it's slipping out of my graps. “Give.. me a moment to think.”  
  
“The omelette would be the fastest, if I don’t step out to buy more ingredients—” I don’t hear the rest of what Vergil has to say as my legs fold under me, and I topple back, ass first, my arms not even out to brace the fall.

* * *

  
“I… I’m doing what I can, Trish.” Vergil is on the phone again. I appear to have been returned to the bed and tucked in at some point. The entire room can’t seem to stop spinning, and it feels like a swamp underneath the covers. “I don’t know. Can creatures like us go to a human hospital? Is this even a human illness? Dante, what do you think?”  
  
Dante tries to answer, but Lady’s voice cuts above the rest, stating something obvious.  
  
Vergil’s voicereply is immediately cold and menacing. “Leave our mother out of this, Mary, or I’ll make you regret ever saying those words.” He feels remorse for his hostility as soon as he says them. “Sorry, it’s simply… I don’t recall ever being ill. I don’t recall mother being ill either. Is there something I’ve forgetten, Dante? Were we ever sick as children? And if we were… how did mother, or father, take care of us? I have no memory of any of it, if it ever occurred.”  
  
Dante shoos his lady-friends away, and says something jovially, like he is trying to cheer Vergil up.  
  
“No, don’t come. I… appreciate the offer, Dante, but what can you do? What can any of us do?”  
  
There is a long bout of hesitation on the other side of the line, before some shaky suggestions.  
  
“I suppose that is better than nothing. I’ll… call again later, to see if you have news.”  
  
Vergil hangs up with a heavy sigh. He strolls back into the bedroom to see me with my eyes half open. I feebly reach a hand towards him which he takes with both of his. He holds it up to his lips, holding it there as if he never wants to let go again.  
  
“There must be… something, I can do, can I not?” he asks, before squeezing onto his side of the bed, pulling me into the cradle of his arms. “You won’t… something like this, can’t possibly take you, can it? It can’t take you away, from me. That’s, not possible. It can’t happen. It won’t.”  
  
He holds my body against his, first gently, then tightly. I cannot keep my eyes open, but I can feel him bury his face into the crook of my neck. The collar of my nightshirt (did I get changed again?) feels warm and damp all of a sudden.  
  
“It can’t happen, please,” he begs.  
  
I weakly pat him on the head, trying to run my weak clumsy fingers through his hair. I try to tell him that everything will be alright, but my words comes out as nothing more than raspy whispers.  
  
A cacophony of fevered dreams takes me away from the world, leaving me no way to discern what is real and what is imaginary.

* * *

I think Vergil did sought help, eventually.  
  
I think he heard Madame Pouillet returning home, and as she fumbled to find the keys to her front door, he realized that he could ask her for help.  
  
I think she came over to check on me. One look was all it took for her to slap Vergil sternly on the forearm, before ordering him to brew a pot of tea, for a doctor will be here posthaste.  
  
I think, as Vergil fidgeted before the kitchen stove, waiting for the water to boil, she hobbled downstairs to the third floor and knocked on the door of the retired doctor. He was upstairs before the kettle whistled. I don’t think Vergil ended up offering tea to anyone.  
  
I think Vergil hesitated on whether he could answer truthfully when the doctor asked about my bruises, the small inflammed cuts, and the exact situation that led up to my fever developing. Sensing his reluctance, the doctor came clean first: Everyone who lived in this building knows about me; what I do, who I am, and what I am. We were all part of the world where the human and demon overlapped. Everyone in the building worked with these sensitive matters on a daily basis, in some way or another. Vergil was a lot more forthcoming after that.  
  
I think Vergil got sent down to the pharmacy around the corner to pick up a long list of prescription. Oh, he also stopped by the alchemist on the second floor and picked up a week’s supply of a certain potion. When the human is weakened, the demon strikes, you see? And yet the human will strike back too, towards both disease and demon. Something about the disease reminds the human that the demon isn’t part of it, or something like that. The alchemist is not a great giver of explanations. She’s a master riddler, if anything. The doctor put it into more objective terms: It’s mostly so he can be certain the pills he prescribe will work as intended. These are pills meant for a human after all, so the more human the patient, the more predictable the outcome. As for which side of the coin I was going to land on, well, Vergil will simply have to have faith.  
  
I think Vergil finally believed that everything was going to be fine when he took my temperature twelve hours later to find that it was back in the low-fever range. I think he might have cried again, though this time, out of relief.

* * *

  
Coming to clarity is a bit of a shock when I wake to a room flooded with sunlight. At first I cringe, only to realize my eyes are adjusting faster than I expected. There is no longer a heavy weight on my chest, and no clouds clung to my mind like the post-rain humidity. Though not all of the illness is gone. There is definitely phlegm, and my joints ached like no other. However, with the sun, birds and traffic coming and going, the day is quite serene.  
  
It is almost too picturesque. I haven't died and gone to heaven, have I? I entertain the thought until Vergil walks in, a box of medication in one hand, a glass of water in the other. He is wearing that damned v-shaped leather vest over his usual leather sleeveless, both of which I absolutely loathe. The sight of them instantly bring me back to reality.  
  
“You’re not a nurse,” I squint at him. “Nurses don’t wear questionable leather vests that makes no sense. And this can't be heaven either. If I have to be subjected to that patterning atrocity in the afterlife, I’d sooner head to hell out of my own volition.”  
  
“Do you really hate this jacket so much?” Vergil shakes his head, smiling deeply, dimples visible  
  
“Yes! I only tolerate it because you’re the one wearing it,” I cough, my lungs clearing faster than before. “What day is it?”  
  
“Thursday.”  
  
I do some quick math in my head. “I’ve been out for five days?”  
  
“More or less. Drink this first.” Vergil hands me a bottle. I swallow it and gag. It tastes like rosemary and garlic and silver in one waxy, oily paste. “You should have gone to the doctor sooner.” He takes the bottle from me, and puts a large pill in my hand with the glass of water.  
  
“I was fine, really,” I said. The pill went down less easily than I expected. “It’s not like it was my first cold or flu ever.”  
  
“It was the first time your two natures decided to fight each other instead of together,” Vergil points out, handing me an even a larger pill. “Why did you not tell me that's a possible complication?”  
  
“Well, it... sort of slipped my mind, because in theory, yes, it might happen.” I chew on the tablet to break it into swallowable pieces. It was incredibly bitter, maybe even worse than the oil. “It’s just…. the chance of it happening was small so...”  
  
It was Vergil’s turn to give the “excuse me what” look. Instead of handing me more pills, he puts the next capsule right into my mouth.  
  
“Alright, alright, I’ll admit it. I lost the roulette. Won’t gamble like that again.” I say, pulling away and quickly washing down the dissolving medication. “How… how many more do I have to take?”  
  
“You have six in total, to be taken three times a day, before or after a meal, your choice.”  
  
“Six?! That’s… that’s eighteen total! My kidneys and liver—“  
  
“Work perfectly and efficiently, like they should in a healthy human,” Vergil says. I reluctantly take the rest before putting the glass back on the bedside table. As consolation, Vergil pulls me into an embrace. He lowers his head, setting his chin on top of my head. “I do not understand. How can something that makes my family so strong be a weakness in you? It should have protected you, not harm.”  
  
“Maybe they got so worked up fighting one another that they forgot about taking care of the actual problem in front of them?” Was that too on the nose? The Redgrave incident, it's been three years. Is it too soon to start cracking jokes about it?

Vergil sneers at my suggestion, so I guess the answer is yes, it's entirely too soon. “A poor metaphor,” he says, shaking his head in disapproval, but stealing side glances at me nevertheless, like he wants something.  
  
“Well, we can’t all be poets.” I chuckle, shifting between his arms until I faced him. His hands come up and encompass my entire face. I do the same to him. “Hey, I just… thanks, for taking care of me,” I say, rubbing my forehead into his.  
  
There is a light blush to Vergil’s cheeks. “I could have done more, should have." He kisses, then nibbles, the palm of my hand.  
  
“Well, that is true for the both of us,” I instinctively move to kiss him in return, but hesitate. Am I still contagious? Vergil answers my concern by planting me a full one on the lips.  
  
In one single breathe, he drags us both to the middle of the bed, pinning me with his body. Each other’s hair tangled between fingers, our other hands roam. When finally, our lips unlock, we are gasping for air, and… finding ourselves wanting.  
  
“So, sincing my cardiovascular functions seems fully recovered…any chance you can let me skip on the rest of the medication today?” I plea, burying my face into his chest.  
  
“Not a chance,” Vergil tuts as he pushes me back, wordlessly telling me to stay still as he begins to remove his vest.

**Author's Note:**

> I'm sorry I ended it there. :D


End file.
